


'keith'

by captaincastello



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Breaking the Fourth Wall, Crack, Fairy Tale Elements, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 07:33:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14869439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaincastello/pseuds/captaincastello
Summary: Get it?? Because of the trope of eponymously titled princess stories??? :DLike,Cinderella,Snow White, orPocahontasErr-kay, so. Keith wakes up in a fairy tale setting for no reason. Spoilers, there are no dragons or any real conflict, and this "summary" is just as crappy as the story you'll make the mistake of reading if you click the link.





	'keith'

**Author's Note:**

> AJ Locascio's "princess Keith" tweet  
> +  
> DnD episode's Knight Shiro  
> +  
> Tamara's "sheith + animals" tweets (cute af btw)  
> \-------------------------------  
> = whatever this is??? haha.
> 
> so i just had fun with this idea in my head, and now it's turned into this fourth-wall-breaking crack  
> i hope you somehow find something to enjoy about this???  
> eh.

 

 

Okay, this is weird.

There’s a flock of white-breasted blue robins and what he can only describe as a horde of Tweety Bird clones perched around him on the bed, around his head. Beyond them, sunlight bounces off clusters of white clouds floating in lazy suspension right outside the single window illuminating his room. Keith blinks; he’s read enough story books back on Earth to deduce that he’s at the topmost floor of a high tower.

Also, his legs feel... what’s the word? Breezy. Probably how it feels to wear clouds instead of armor. Wait, where _is_ his armor? Morning air brushes against his shoulders arms and face, which makes him even more convinced that someone’s out to kill him, or expose him to all sorts of natural viruses, because why would anyone put him in a barely ventilated room in high altitude—with birds? What’s the villain betting on, avian flu?

He gets up, gently rattling the winged creatures, and notices a large antique mirror bordered by polished mahogany hanging off a wall.

 _Oh_.

His hair—it’s the regular mullet alright, but it looks like a bunch of tiny Tinkerbells had a bad case of diarrhea and defecated a flower shop onto his head—think of the galaxy littered with stars and threads of luminous cosmic dust, except it’s an abundance of flora snaking in thin vines down his ebony locks. His dress is a magical amalgamation of red hues—wine, ruby, scarlet, currant—outlined with patterns of bright honeycomb and butterscotch gold linings and embroideries. Traces of glitter decorate the skin poking above the portrait neckline of his dress, all over his collarbone and shoulder blades—again, possibly from Tinkerbells. He doesn’t dislike this new look, but whoever designed this elaborately amazing ensemble probably ran out of cloth or just straight up gave up on covering his backside, settling instead on a large V bordered by a thin film of lace. This further solidifies the idea that he’s been sentenced to death by exposure to cold air.

He pushes the curtains of his massive four-poster bed aside and steps out—and almost trips over his own heels—literal heels—when he hears a yawn coming from the other side of the room. He turns around— his dresser , his _fucking_ mahogany dresser which probably came with the mirror, is yawning; yawning a melody from the sound of it, as it shifts the entire bulk of its body in what Keith understands as its version of early morning stretching.

“Ahh, morning! Hello, sun! Hello, Princess Keith!—“

And so begins its shrill barrage of salutations directed at everything else in the room, in a singsong voice reminiscent of obligatory opening soundtracks in probably every Brothers Grimm film adaptation— that only confirms what Keith has been thinking all along.

He sighs.

“Okay, which Disney film are we ripping off—“

He breaks off as the birds start to circle him, a hive mind of feathery creatures swooping in loops all around him until they land on his shoulders and arms and head, and for a quick second there he’s thankful they weren’t bees.

“… what the fuck is happening,” Keith mutters softly to the wind, wondering belatedly if Disney will shut this down because he said a bad word. “There’s too many of you… and why am I breaking into song!?”

He clamps his mouth shut before the rising pitch of his annoying vibrato could shatter the glass mirror. Over in a corner, a broomstick and mop with eyes and hands drawn over them, are dancing to the dresser’s tune. There are mice overhead, looking down at the musical from on top of the roof beams and rafters, and joined a split second later by squirrels and raccoons. Rabbits are spilling out from under his bed in waves—did they have a nest under there _and_ have they been repopulating while he slept—?

“S-stop it…” Keith’s weak pleas are futile in the face of the majestic doe and her foal sweeping up under his arm, prompting him to scratch the soft spot behind their ears—and why were _they_ in the room in the high tower?!? How do they eat, how do they poop, or more importantly _where_ —and, ohh, their fur is so nice and warm—

And Keith is crying.

 “I-I’m warning you, I am a _tsundere_ and I am _this_ close to reaching the peak limit of how much cuteness I am able to handle—“

[A/N: **Tsundere**  (ツンデレ, pronounced [tsɯndeɾe]) is a Japanese term for a character development process that describes a person who is initially cold (and sometimes even hostile) before gradually showing a warmer, friendlier side over time. ( _source: Wikipedia_ ) ].

But wait, if he’s the designated princess, then fairy tale logic would dictate that a big buff prince should be climbing into his window any moment now—

And true enough, a big buff Shiro  comes swinging into his window on a large vine— in accordance with the overall theme, he’s definitely dressed for the part—and to this day it still blows Keith away that such a man who looks great naked looks equally ravishing fully clothed. But because this is a Disney rip-off, one cannot dawdle too long in the image of a butt-naked Shiro, no matter how crop-flourishing and skin-glowing a picture it is.

Shiro lands gracefully on the cold stone floor, stands up to showcase the full magnificence of his armor, and sets the room ambiance to the closest it can be to an R-18 rating that a Disney film adaptation would allow.

A platinum circlet adorns his windswept hair, and Keith sends a silent prayer to the gods to bless whoever spearheaded this design. A big sword sheathed in its scabbard hangs off his shoulder, and Keith’s about to comment on another bigger sword hanging on him somewhere else but then we’ll have to censor it, so he doesn’t.

As if on cue, the musical fantasy AU critters give them the space they need to run into each other at full speed, _shojou anime_ style— jumping into arms, circling around, laughing, flowers blooming all around them at an alarmingly fast rate that threatens to trigger spring allergies.

Keith finally sets Shiro down and they both gaze into each other’s eyes like a worn out romance cliché, and because eye-fucking is the only way they can get away with any fucking at all in a fairy tale.

In one smooth move, Shiro unclasps the cape off his shoulder and wraps it around Keith.

“Color of your eyes,” he says softly, gesturing to the bright amethyst stone holding the cloth together.

They both smile; Keith can’t stop even if he wants to because he’s just real glad that his prince isn’t the designated handsome-than-everybody-else character he’s destined to fall for after one carefully choreographed joint song number. Around them, the animals and furniture continue to paint the air with their synchronized melody, drowning the dainty room in colors of comfort and warmth. Keith settles in the moment, thankful; heart expanding in inexplicable bliss; because right now his entire reality is the body he’s holding onto; because now is the perfect time to finally pop the question he’s been waiting to ask all this time: “Shiro… what the actual fuck is happening?”

**Author's Note:**

> uhm,,  
> thank you so much for reading this tragic shitstain  
> xoxo


End file.
